The Flower of Carnage
by Diamond Mask
Summary: As much as Bryan hated to admit it, Tala was an intriguing creature.
1. Chapter 1

**The Flower of Carnage**

**Disclaimer**: This authoress does not own Beyblade or any of the respective characters.

**Warnings**: Language, violence and shonen-ai.

* * *

As much as Bryan hated to admit it, Tala was an intriguing creature.

This was his tenth opponent and yet he showed no sign of exhaustion or strain. He simply annihilated them one after the other, first toying with the pathetic specimens and then delivering the final blow with the force of an avalanche. Bryan appreciated those kinds of tactics, but that was not the reason he found the new boy so interesting.

Nor was it the fact that however Bryan looked at it, he ended up at the conclusion that Tala was exceptionally attractive.

The blue eyes that burned with the same intense fury as his flaming red hair were undoubtedly his most striking features. Bryan could have added a whole host of other descriptions for them alone, never mind the rest of his body, but his fascination lay with something entirely different.

He could not actually label it, since he was not quite sure what 'it' was. It was strange enough that he could not take his eyes off the redhead as it was. Whatever 'it' was, it confused and fascinated him at the same time.

With the feigned indifference that made him infamous in the Abbey, Bryan continued to watch the match below. Perhaps it was a waste of his time, but it did not bother him in this case. He had been ordered by Boris to be present and he would remain until it was over. At least it gave him time to ponder 'it'.

So far he had established that it was not due to looks. He did not care for trivial things, though he did notice attractiveness when it was shoved in his face. And it was definitely impossible not to notice when it came to Tala.

Neither was it strength. Bryan had plenty of that and the fact that the redhead did too made no difference. Granted, he also had endurance and maintained his cold exterior throughout a match – all qualities that the falcon held and admired.

Yet that still did not explain 'it'.

He watched through half-closed eyes as Tala impatiently brushed little bits of rubble out of his hair, making even the simple gesture seem elegant and refined. Even being covered in dust and sweat did not detract from his striking figure.

Bryan examined his fighting form more closely as the redhead prepared to unleash a devastating finale, noting every precise detail. From the way his eyes blazed with the strange light emitted from his blade, to the way his body seemed to flow like liquid steel. Admittedly, his technique was flawless. That much was evident from the way he released the attack, slamming his opponent into oblivion with deadly grace and precision.

His opponent, an idiot with more luck than talent, gave a pained shriek before being enveloped in the howling blizzard and Bryan smirked. For being a useless wimp, he deserved much worse.

When the storm died down, Tala was the only one left standing. His opponent lay comatose, surrounded by the shattered remains of his blade.

Slowly, the sound of applauding filled the arena.

"Excellent, Tala!"

The Abbey director was positively exuberant as he hurried across the ruined floor to gloat over his latest recruit, armed with his usual greasy smile. Tala was staring blankly at the unconscious figure but turned to oblige Boris with a satisfied smile. He had performed beyond the highest expectations of the Abbey and knew it.

"That was a superb performance. Really, you have surpassed all expectations, more so than other recruit in the history of the Abbey!"

Tala bent to retrieve his blade, one hand ghosting lovingly over the warm metal before sliding it into his pocket. "Thank you, sir."

Boris seemed unperturbed by the quiet reply and continued on his rant. "No doubt about it, you have a bright future in the blading world, Tala. With your abilities, you will make an excellent addition to the Demolition Boys – no, you will make them unbeatable!"

The redhead only smiled indulgingly at the excessive praise. "I will be sure to do my best, sir."

"Yes, perhaps you even have what it takes to fill the position of team leader – provided, of course, you can continue this winning streak and prove your worth to me."

Above them, a lavender brow lifted fractionally as Bryan finally stirred.

It went unnoticed by Boris and his latest protégée. The director continued in the same vein as before and Tala quickly grew bored with the fake praise being heaped upon him. All this slimy approval was making him feel dirty.

Mercifully, it ended soon enough and Tala was finally dismissed. As he walked towards the exit, his blue eyes grew more and more clouded. Once the door was open, he stepped into the secluded passageway and finally let the façade crack.

Oh god, it hurt. Tala abandoned all pretence and collapsed against the wall, fighting the urge to slide down to the floor completely. Even though he had demolished his opposition, he had been forced to use most of his energy to inflict convincing damage and conceal his own injuries. His gaze flicked down to his arm and he grimaced. The numerous cuts stung like hell and he would have an impressive collection of bruises come tomorrow. But it would all be worth it when he got what he wanted from Boris.

"Impressive, Ivanov."

His head jerked up to see a pale, lavender haired teen staring impassively back at him. Tala took a deep breath, forcing himself upright. "Who…" his voice faltered, but he steeled himself visibly before trying again. "Who the hell are you?" he finally bit out, clenching his fists to keep from shaking.

Those eyes continued to bore into him. "Bryan Kuznetsov. Somebody should have warned you about me by now."

"Yeah, as a matter of fact, someone did. They told me you were a cold, malicious prick." Tala sneered, barely hanging onto the façade by a thread. "Were they right?"

Bryan shrugged, a smirk playing around the corner of his mouth. "Battle me and find out," he answered indifferently. "But since you can barely stand-"

"I could wipe the floor with you right now!" Anger pushed the redhead right up to the other teen but it was a mistake that cost him dearly. He wobbled dangerously and would have fallen if not for the steel grip that clenched around his arm.

"This act is pointless, you know."

Tala blinked, uncomfortably near to the other teens face. "What are you talking about, Kuznetsov?" he demanded heatedly, increasingly aware of his close proximity.

"Pretending to be strong is a waste of time, Ivanov. Boris only sees what he wants to see anyway."

"You think this pretending?" he hissed angrily, flinging off the arm and taking a step backwards. "You watched me battle, I saw you up there in the arena. Did it look like I was pretending?"

"No. But you battled to the best of your ability and pretended it was nothing for you. You do realize Boris is going to have you perform that same little trick over and over again, right? Day and night, until he breaks you. All that talk about captainship was the same cheap stunt he pulls on every new recruit – you have a long way before he even lets you near the team."

"I'm not like them!" he spat furiously, clenching his arm to stop the shaking. "I am anything but weak!"

The falcon regarded the furious redhead intently and smiled. So this was 'it'.

What had intrigued him from the moment he first saw Tala was not good looks or strength. 'It' was a simple thing.

Tala was delicate.

Fragile.

He had proven that he could break others, yet in doing so broke himself. Tala would hurt himself to gain his objective, an interesting trait that Bryan would have liked to push, just to see how far the wolf would go.

It amazed him how Tala could be so paradoxical. He wreathed the arena in destruction, yet here he was: weak as a kitten with the confidence to match. And the vulnerability showed in his eyes, along with a desperate ambition. If he was poetic (which he was definitely not), Bryan might have described him as a delicate flower - a flower of carnage.

That dogged determination even bordered on the realm of stupidity, something Bryan had to nip in the bud now if he was to prevent the redhead from half killing himself in the future just to prove a point to Boris.

"A word of advice, Ivanov."

Tala never flinched as the other teen pushed him up against the wall, pinning him there with both hands on either side of his head. "You'd better not disappoint me," he whispered threateningly. "The Demolition Boys need a captain who can stay strong, not someone who will drive themselves to pieces at the first sign of a challenge. You got that, Ivanov? If you want a future here, this can never happen again."

The blue gaze was hard. "Why are you telling me this, Kuznetsov?" he asked quietly, searching the indifferent eyes. "You have no reason to help me."

Bryan leaned closer, acutely aware that their lips were only inches apart. "Because you confuse me. I hate that you do, yet for some stupid reason I want to know why. And the only way I can do that is to keep you around long enough to find out."

Tala blinked and then laughed derisively. "I guess someone forgot to tell me that the dreaded Bryan Kuznetsov was an idiot as well as-"

The next moment, his scornful words were lost in the pair of surprisingly soft lips that covered his own. His eyes widened and his first reaction to the forceful embrace was to shove him away. The movement sent pain bolting through him and Bryan took advantage of the instant of weakness, instantly deepening the kiss through lips already parted in a gasp. He had him pinned against the wall and his arms propped up the other teen, his body barely having enough energy to keep him awake, let alone standing.

The violent intensity left Tala panting for air and his arms soon encircled the back of the falcon for support, fingertips brushing the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

Bryan broke the kiss as suddenly as he had initiated it and almost shoved himself away from the redhead. Tala hung limply where he was, blue eyes fixed on his as he brushed a hand tentatively over his lips. "Bryan-"

"I am what they say," he said abruptly, a heightened flush on his cheeks the only sign of what had passed between them. "Don't forget that, Ivanov."

Tala watched him walk away, fingertips lingering over his mouth. He wanted to yell at him, curse him, say something, but nothing came out.

Bryan shoved his hands in his pockets as he turned the corner, not giving the frozen redhead a second glance. But he smiled to himself.

"Welcome to the team… Tala."

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I know this is late, over a _year_ late, actually. Seriously, I have no excuse. But now that university is over, I plan on finishing this fic, which means two more chapters to go. Hopefully, those should be completed by Christmas.

Please read & review!

* * *

No matter how many times Tala replayed the kiss in his head, no matter how many hours he spent brooding over it, he couldn't understand it.

And he understood Bryan Kuznetsov even less.

There was no reason for that kiss, no matter how hard he tried to find one. Bryan was malicious, cold, sadistic and ruthless. Every kid Tala had met so far was afraid of him, even boys twice his size. It could just be wild rumours, but half the patients in the Abbey hospice were there because of him.

And most of them were never coming out.

He had heard the stories. The whispered rumours in the dormitories after lights out, about the other kids who faced the falcon in the arena. The weaker ones, who never stopped screaming while they were being carried out of the training hall, who were declared 'incompetent' and sent away by Boris.

The ones who never came back… _because of Bryan_.

Was it supposed to intimidate him somehow? Make him feel so insecure that he would just give up and leave?

Tala expected antagonism. He even welcomed it. If there was no friendship, no emotion involved, it made crushing his opponents that much easier. If Boris was intending to place him as team captain, he expected rivalry from the Demolition Boys. Did he expect to be welcomed with open arms?

No, of course not. Tala was ready to deal with resentment. Even hatred.

But a _kiss_?

Either it was a bizarre form of hostility or Kuznetsov was screwed in the head.

Tala rubbed his arm, blue eyes pensive as he examined the fresh cuts. Bryan had been right about one thing anyway, he thought sourly. Ever since his performance three days ago, Boris was having him execute the same act day and night, like a circus clown. The same trick, as if he was a trained dog. And as much as he hated to admit it, the constant exertion was taking its toll. Even now, he was shaking and he was so tired he could hardly think straight. The extra practice sessions he took alone by night only added fuel to the fire.

The only thing on his mind was that damn kiss.

Tala could still feel the ghost of his lips pressing forcefully against his, hear his harsh voice pounding in his ears. It was maddening, infuriating and… oddly _pleasant_. Even though the way Bryan kissed was fierce and violent, not an intimate touch shared between two people, Tala could not say that it had been terrible.

Confusing and infuriating, yes, but not terrible.

He smiled, touching his lips lightly. His embrace had been _everything_ but terrible. But the smile vanished when he remembered what had been said.

Bryan thought he was weak. Unworthy. It had been painfully obvious from both his words and the scornful look in his eyes. The one thing Tala depended on, the strength that was going to get him out of the gutter, had been dismissed by the falcon as if it was nothing.

And there was no way Tala was going to forgive him for that so easily.

* * *

"It was only supposed to be a game."

_Thud_.

"Only a game… _nothing_ more."

_Thud_.

"It was supposed to mess with his head, not mine!"

_Thud_.

"Why am I feeling like this? Why me? Why about him?"

_Thud_.

His fist smashed into the punching bag, followed by a savage kick that ripped the already straining seams apart. With a hiss, sand poured from the torn leather to pool around his feet, the gash gaping like an open wound.

Breathing hard, Bryan crouched on the floor, ignoring the sweat dripping into his eyes.

Despite every effort he made to crush the feeling, it kept on surfacing. It was wrong, it was unnatural and it was making him weak… Tala was making him weak! Bryan gritted his teeth, clenching his bandaged fists hard.

The redhead was invading his head every waking moment of every single fucking _hour _since their brief encounter one week ago. Even now, he found himself wondering where Tala was, what he might be doing, even who he might be with – like it actually mattered to him!

The strange myriad of emotion spiralling inside him was actually making him nervous.

Ignoring the sand, he sat down heavily, hanging his head between his knees. Those ice blue eyes, his voice… they even infected his dreams. And the dreams were far from innocent, they were downright disturbing. Bryan had never had dreams like that about any girl, let alone another _boy_.

Had he known that his interest in Tala was going to turn into this bizarre fixation, he might have killed the wolf on the spot instead of kissing him.

Bryan scowled. Why had he kissed Tala anyway?

Come to think of it, why had he even bothered to talk to him in the first place?

"… _Because you confuse me. I hate that you do, yet for some stupid reason I want to know why. And the only way I can do that is to keep you around long enough to find out…_"

Okay, so Tala intrigued him. Big fucking deal. The redhead was a good-looking guy – _better_ than good-looking, even. It was understandable, even with those kind of relationships forbidden in the Abbey. But there was still something… there was still something about him that kept him hooked.

_Am I feeling like this just because we kissed? Or is it because I thought of him as a new toy… and found that he was everything but? _

Boris had informed his chosen protégés some days ago that he had found a suitable candidate to lead them. They had been sceptical of course, none more so than himself.

So he had thought it would be fun to toy with the redhead until it became official. Mess with his head, screw with him just for the hell of it. Maybe even give him a little motivation to get the ball rolling. After all, Bryan had been bored. He rarely got a kick out of thrashing his opponents lately and watching them moan and bleed wasn't nearly as much fun as he remembered.

Now it was all coming back to bite him on the ass.

Bryan almost smiled. _Talk about karma._

_

* * *

_

With the oily grin that was quickly becoming his trademark, Boris greeted Tala with a smile that bared his yellowing teeth and the redhead could barely hold back a shudder. But, as usual, the director remained oblivious and motioned him to sit down.

Tala lowered himself into the chair, looking perfectly nonchalant and unruffled, even though the excitement was threatening to bubble out of him.

"Well," Boris began, pressing his fingers together on the desk, "it seems as though you have proven yourself over the past week, Tala. Over a dozen more victories, each more impressive than the last."

The redhead smiled, a heady glow burning in his stomach.This was it: everything he had hoped for, prayed for, _lived_ for, was going to happen.

"You even managed to make an impression on our most important benefactor. Quite an accomplishment, I might add. He is a… difficult man, to say the least. But you have pleased him."

The flawless smile widened.

"Lord Voltaire has made enquiries as to your future here and I told him exactly what I told you- that you would be captain of the Demolition Boys… provided you _could_ prove yourself to me."

The smile disappeared.

"Beating my students, however thoroughly, means nothing unless you can beat the best of them. Tell me, Tala, did you walk in here today and expect the captainship to be handed to you on a silver platter? That it would really be this easy?"

Easy?

_Easy?_

His hands clenched painfully and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from hurling obscenities at Boris. Tala had sweat blood for this bastard for weeks and now this was what he had to say? Hate welled up inside him, the mixture of disappointment and loathing searing his throat like acid.

_How many more puppets do you want me to destroy before you give me what I want?_

Boris leaned back in his chair, not at all disturbed by the almost tangible hatred directed at him. It was all too familiar to him and perhaps he even received it with a certain degree of pleasure. It would, he reflected, be fairly amusing to string Tala along for a few more agonising minutes, but Voltaire was demanding a complete team and, more importantly, results. Now was hardly the time to dally, especially when his job and neck were on the line.

"Fortunately for you, your test has yet to be completed. To be a Demolition Boy…" he paused, lip curling upward in a sneer. "You have to beat them."

Boris snapped his fingers and in the second before the door opened, Tala had a tiny psychic flash that had him on his feet. Before he even saw him, the name was on his lips.

"Bryan!"

The Abbey director raised a brow, beckoning the pale teen forward. "Already acquainted, I see," he noted, his glance moving from one boy to the other. "Good. That will make matters all the more interesting, don't you think?"

Tala only nodded mutely, not trusting himself to say anything.

Bryan did not react at all. Since entering the room, he had not even spared the redhead one glance, not even acknowledging his presence.

"Well then," Boris smiled, lacing his spindly fingers together on the desk. He did not look at all surprised by their reactions – but even if they had protested or agreed, it would not have mattered. They were trained to keep their mouths shut and agree with whatever came out of his, and Tala would know by now to adhere to that rule.

"I expect you both to be in the main arena in one hour for your match."

"One hour?" Tala burst out, unable to remain silent. How could Boris expect him to compete with Bryan in this condition? He at least needed time to recuperate, time to devise a decent strategy to take on someone of the falcon's calibre. "Sir, with all due respect, I need more time–"

Boris never skipped a beat.

_Crack. _

Tala swayed where he stood, blue eyes wide in astonishment. Slowly, he raised his hand to touch the scarlet mark handprint on his cheek.

"Consider that your first official lesson from me, Tala," the older man said pleasantly. "I will not tolerate disobedience or insolence. As long as you are here, you will follow my orders or suffer the consequences You are to present yourself in the main arena in one hour, prepared for a beybattle, or return to the gutter where I found you. Is that clear?"

The redhead nodded stiffly.

"You will find," Boris continued conversationally, "that this was an easy lesson. The others are much worse, I'm afraid. Bryan can attest to that."

The said boy finally moved. "I'm sure there will be no need for that, sir."

"Oh? And why is that?"

The grey eyes slid across to Tala, resting on his face for a brief moment. The warning was clear.

_Shut up and let me handle this._

Bryan's gaze flickered back to the director. "Ivanov knows what's at stake. He knows the consequences of failure, just like the rest of us. It won't happen again."

Boris nodded his approval before settling back behind the desk. "Excellent. See that it stays that way. Now, I will expect both of you to report to the arena in an hour for your beybattle. Bryan, inform Ian and Spencer that their presence will be required as well. As for you, Tala– "

"Yes, sir?"

"Your performance will be graded accordingly. If you lose, I'm afraid it will hamper your chances greatly."

Tala gritted his teeth. _No kidding_. _You knew exactly what you were doing when you put me up against Bryan, you bastard_.

"…ah, I think that will be all." Boris shuffled a sheaf of documents that rested before him, his attention now diverted from the two bladers. "Dismissed."

Both teens gave him a stiff bow at the curt command before leaving the office together.

* * *

"You really are a goddamn idiot, Ivanov."

"You're one to talk." Tala retorted.

"I've learned how to handle Boris. You haven't and that's why you need to be more careful. Fuck, mouthing off like that. What the hell did you think he was going to do?"

The redhead rubbed the faint imprint still marring his cheek and scowled. "He's a fucking asshole," he muttered darkly.

"Hn. Congratulations, then."

Tala raised a brow questioningly.

"You've just learned your first real lesson," the other teen explained with a smirk. "Rule number one of the Abbey: Boris _is_ a fucking asshole."

Tala started to laugh, but the chuckle died in his throat when a pale hand clenched hard around his shoulder.

"…which is why, Ivanov, you should never cross him again. You agree with every word out of his filthy mouth, no matter how wrong it is, understand?"

There was a mulish glint in the blue eyes. "If I don't agree with his orders–" he started indignantly.

"You don't have to agree with them, you just have to follow them," the other retorted sharply.

Tala scoffed, but kept his mouth shut. He couldn't afford to waste time arguing with the falcon. True, he had enough confidence in his natural abilities and experience, but Bryan was in a different league altogether – and his entire future was riding on this one battle.

_Perfect_, he thought dourly._ More pressure. _

He sneaked a sideways glance at the teen walking beside him. He was scowling, which wasn't unusual, but there was a tension in the cheeks and mouth that hadn't been there before. _What the hell does he have to worry about? _

"Let me give you another piece of advice, Ivanov."

Tala met his eyes unwaveringly. _I'm not afraid of you_, he said silently to himself. _I don't care what you do, but you can't scare me_.

"If you can't beat me…"

There was a long pause.

"…I'll kill you."

Tala's eyes widened. "If you can, be my guest," the redhead shot back flippantly to hide his shock. "Don't think you can intimidate me, Kuznetsov."

"I mean it," Bryan said flatly. "If you lose, you die."

"Don't be ridiculous. You can't _kill_ me in a beybattle."

"It's better than the alternative."

"What do you mean, 'better than the alternative'?"

"What Boris will do to you if you lose. You've been here for a week, Ivanov, you should know how this place works by now. Haven't you even wondered what happens to the failures? They disappear and they don't come back."

"I know." Tala gritted his teeth, fists clenched in frustration. "I _know_, dammit."

Bryan shrugged. "Then you also know what you have to do. Fight to kill."

"I can't–"

"Fine. I'll make things easier for you then. I'll force you. I won't give you a choice. You'll have to hurt me, you'll have to kill me if you want to survive in this shithole. And I know that you want to."

Tala looked away. "You don't know what I want. You have no idea, so don't act like you do!"

"Really? I know you better than you think, Ivanov. I know exactly what you want, and how _badly_ you want it. Don't think you're any different – you're just as fucked up as the rest of us. That's why you came here."

The redhead was silent.

"…I don't get you," he said finally. "One day you're encouraging me, _kissing_ me, and the next you're saying you'll kill me if I can't beat you. What the hell is your problem?"

"You tell me," the falcon muttered under his breath. "I sure as hell don't get it either."

"Guess that makes two of us, then."

Bryan gave him a sideward glance. "Yeah," he answered shortly. "I guess it does."

They walked on in silence.

The Abbey was quiet for this time of day, with most of the young inhabitants either confined to classrooms or training halls. _It's more like a morgue than a school_, Tala thought wryly, _which is fitting when you consider what they do to kids here_. None were allowed to linger in the corridors when their time could be better applied to extending their skills in the arena, or stuffing their heads with Biovolt's doctrines. Of course, none of the instructors or guards who saw the two teens walking together did or said anything.

Everyone recognised Boris's 'special' students.

"Hey…this is my stop."

Bryan looked up to see Tala standing in front of one of the dormitories. He raised a brow, lip curling as he examined the shabby quarters.

"God, I'd forgotten what shitholes these dorms were," he murmured, more to himself than to the redhead.

A small smile quirked the corners of Tala's mouth. "It may not be the Ritz," he said dryly, "but it beats sleeping outside."

Bryan made a noise of agreement. "But when you're one of us, it'll be better. Boris treats us like shit most of the time, but at least we sleep and eat better than these idiots."

"Again with the encouragement," Tala said teasingly, grinning suddenly. "Better be careful, Kuznetsov, or I'm going to start thinking you really do want me on the team."

The pale-eyed teen shrugged. "If not you, then Boris will find someone else. It won't be hard; there are thousand of kids willing to take your place. But Spencer, Ian and me, we're the ones who'll be doing his dirty work, so we make the final choice. Here in the Abbey, we're the ones who play judge and jury. So, Ivanov… if you earn the right to stay here, it will be on _our_ terms, not his."

"But that's not why he picked you to be my opponent," Tala surmised with narrowed eyes.

"Of course not."

"Then why?"

Bryan smiled, slowly, predatorily. "You know why."

"_You know those stories you've heard about me, Ivanov? They're true… all of them. I am what they say. Don't forget it_."

"_Don't disappoint me_. _Don't you dare_…"

Tala stared at him, trying to find _something_, some glimmer of understanding in the cold grey eyes. There had to be a reason, a reason why Bryan was acting like this. But the eyes remained blank, hard.

"Bryan…"

"You should go."

"…Yeah. I should."

But he didn't move. Neither did Bryan. They both just stood there.

After a long while of just staring at the floor, Tala spoke.

"…would you really do it?"

"Do what?"

Tala cleared his throat. "Kill me. Would you do it?"

Bryan would have automatically answered "yes" if anybody else had asked.

_What does he want me to say? _He asked himself angrily._ "Gee, of course not. I don't kill the people I kiss?" This guy… he's fucked with my mind so badly I don't even know what I'm doing anymore. I've already told him more than I should have. Actually, I should have ripped him apart by now for what he's doing to me. But I can't. Dammit, I can't do it. And I don't know why._

"I don't have any reason not to," he found himself saying. "You're only another one of Boris's pawns. I couldn't give a shit whether you live or die."

He found himself looking for the spark of hurt in those cerulean eyes, wanting to feel his own spark of sadistic pleasure at causing it.

_Come on, dammit_. _Hurt_. _I want to see it, I **have** to see it_.

Instead, Tala only smiled. "I wouldn't expect any less, coming from you."

Bryan blinked.

"I'm not afraid of pain. I'm not afraid of Boris. I'm not afraid of _you_, Kuznetsov. I know you think I am. I know you think I'm weak. But you're wrong–"

"–I never said that."

"What?"

"I don't think you're weak."

It was Tala's turn to blink in confusion.

"Yes, you do," he retorted. "It's the one thing you've made clear to me ever since we met."

"No. You are not weak." Bryan took a step closer. "But you don't think with your head. You let your emotions rule you. And you're too damn stubborn and proud to admit it. That's your weakness. You're letting Boris use it to manipulate you, and you can't even see it because you've blinded yourself to the fact. But you… you're not weak. I've never thought that."

"No, I–" Tala found himself protesting as the other teen pressed closer. The redhead flushed as he was uncomfortably reminded of what happened the last time they were in this position. He flattened himself against the wall, looking up at into grey eyes glowing with furious intensity. His gaze focused instinctively on Bryan's lips.

The falcon froze, evidently realizing the same thing. He moved to pull himself away, but Tala's hand held him there.

"Wait," he said quietly.

Every shred of Bryan's being was telling him to run. This was getting out of control. The vulnerability on Tala's face, the vulnerability _he_ was feeling, it was all unnecessary. And dangerous, so dangerous. He couldn't afford to be emotional, not if he bladed to kill. But to run from Tala… no matter how hard he tried, his feet wouldn't listen to his brain.

"Did you really mean what you said?"

_No. I lied. You are weak. You are pathetic. There is absolutely no reason why I should have any interest in you, not even as a fucking human being. You should mean nothing to me, Tala. _

"Yes."

And he hated himself for being honest.

Tala smiled, a genuine smile that lit up his eyes. "Thanks," he said softly, tightening his grip on Bryan's arm.

"…you're welcome," Bryan replied curtly after an awkward moment had passed. "But just because I didn't say you were weak, Ivanov, don't think it means that I'll go back on my word. If you can't beat me, I will kill you."

Yet Tala still smiled, even knowingly this time. Bryan scowled. Most kids would have run screaming by now if he'd sworn to kill them, but Ivanov, that stupid stubborn _fool_, just stood there and _smiled_. Bryan waited for another stinging retort, maybe even a hurt look, but a thrill of shock ran through him when Tala suddenly leaned forward and brushed a quick but sweet kiss over his lips.

"Yeah," he murmured, mouth still close enough for Bryan to feel his breath. "You do that, Kuznetsov. I'll hold it as a promise."

Bryan drew back, a glimmer of fury simmering beneath his expression. But instead of lashing out, he simply turned his back on the wolf without another word. He didn't trust himself to stay. If he did, he had no way of knowing or controlling what happened next.

Tala watched him walk away. "Hey," he called out. "You'd better not disappoint me either. If you're going to try and kill me, you better give me everything you've got."

Bryan didn't turn around. He just walked further and further away. For a fleeting moment, he just wished he could escape to a place where he didn't have to deal with contradictory redheads, to a place where Tala Ivanov didn't exist.

Unfortunately for Bryan Kuznetsov, reality had never been that kind. Reality always kicked him when he was down, reality had screwed him over countless times. But now it was aiming for the last place left untouched, the place where reality _hurt_. His hand pressed automatically over his heart, feeling the rhythmic pulse thud gently against his fingers. He felt the erratic throb that pulsed whenever his thoughts drifted to Tala, felt the actual physical _pain_ that thinking of Tala led to.

No, Bryan had no intention of breaking this promise.

_If Tala wants pain… I'll give it to him_.

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**The Flower of Carnage: Chapter Three**

**A/N:** I really shouldn't make promises when it comes to updates. My self-imposed Christmas deadline for completion got away from me as you might have guessed, and now the story keeps stretching itself out whenever I think of finishing it. I think the final count will stand at five chapters, give or take.

* * *

"He looks like a girl."

Spencer raised a brow at the curt verdict, setting aside his beyblade and reaching out for the file. "Really? Let me see."

He examined the photograph attached to the thick binder curiously, tilting his head and frowning. "Ivanov does look a bit… feminine," he agreed cautiously, reluctant to judge his prospective captain so harshly before they had even met.

"Feminine my ass," Ian scoffed. "He probably _is _a fucking girl. Seriously, what the hell is Boris thinking, setting us up with a guy like that? People will take us for a bunch of pansies when they see him."

"But if Boris thinks he is a good choice, we shouldn't–"

"Yeah, yeah." Ian scowled, flopping over onto his stomach. "We'll just roll over and kiss Boris's ass like his opinion actually _matters_."

The blonde chose to ignore the slight to their trainer and regarded the file more thoughtfully before setting it aside. "I wonder what Bryan thinks of him," he mused. "He was here earlier to bring the file from Boris, and he has a beybattle later with Ivanov. Did he say anything?"

The younger boy shrugged. "Nope. But he almost took my head off for asking."

Spencer looked surprised. "That's weird."

"You tell me. Usually he can't wait to give me all the gory details of what he's gonna do before a match."

Spencer nodded unconsciously in agreement. It was unusual for Bryan to clam up before a match, especially when he was given the opportunity to 'test' bladers of a higher calibre than the usual fare at the Abbey. When persuaded by his teammates or faced with a potential victim, Bryan would often launch into detailed accounts of how he planned to wreak emotional and physical havoc; whether he was in the mood to be merciful and make it quick, or draw out every agonising second just to make it more interesting.

Given the blader in question, Spencer had no doubt that the falcon would be very interested in breaking him. Not because he had been ordered to, not because Tala was unusually good-looking, but simply because Ivanov just seemed… like his type, or something. Spencer grinned privately to himself as he backtracked on his last thought. It was hard to imagine someone like Bryan having a type.

"Man, he didn't have to bite my head off. I mean, come on. It's not like Tala's gonna beat him. No one's been able to beat Bryan for years. But the way he's been acting, you'd think he was actually worried about losing. Have you noticed the shitty mood he's been in this whole week? Ever since Ivanov came, he's been crapping all over everyone for no freaking reason."

The blonde had to bite back his grin now. It was difficult _not_ to notice when Bryan was in a bad mood. At the slightest provocation he would lash out with a ferocity that proved lethal if left unchecked, taking out his fury on everything from equipment to people. The hospital staff had long since given up on threats since Bryan shrugged off severe punishment like a slap on the wrist, and had simply resigned themselves to accepting the students he manhandled with a sigh. Boris, on the other hand, enjoyed these violent episodes tremendously and encouraged vicious behaviour in the dish whenever the opportunity arose.

"Yeah, I did. He's been like this before, but we don't know if it's only because of Tala–"

"And he hardly knows the guy," Ian griped as if his teammate hadn't spoken, flinging one short arm over the back of the couch to haul himself upright. "But Ivanov's got him so riled up, he's taking it out on everything. Seriously, a guy like him can't be that good – I'll give that pretty boy five minutes before Bryan breaks his face."

"You think so?"

"I _know_ so. Come on, Spence, this is Bryan we're talking about. What the hell are you so worried about? I know people have been talking about how good this Ivanov guy is, but he can't be better than Bryan. He _won't_ be."

Spencer only shrugged uncomfortably. He had heard the stories about Tala, of course – he was all most kids were talking about. He would have liked to see for himself, but Boris had stepped up their training program over the past week, and it had been impossible to steal away and catch a glimpse of him. The only one of their group who had been allowed to see Tala was…

"There's still the possibility that Bryan can lose."

Boris never did anything without a reason. He had always been aware of how his protégées functioned as a unit – he had taught them, moulded them, it only made sense that he could grasp their strings and make them dance to his tune. Spencer knew how much Bryan liked the feeling of playing judge and jury, but he also knew that Boris knew exactly how to manipulate that. It was dangerous, at times unpredictable; he used each opportunity of weakness to remind them gleefully that in the end, he was still the puppet master.

The doubt continued to pulse behind his eyes, growing even as he fought to push it down.

"Tala might win."

"Bryan won't let happen," Ian declared decisively, aiming his rifle at the centre of the photograph.

Spencer's eyes followed the path of the gun, settling on the unsmiling face. The same strings lingered behind Tala, jerking him forward to the shackles that would pin him to the path that Boris would choose. He would don the chains they all wore, and it would be his choice. He would believe that. Bryan knew their weight, he had dragged the burden for years now, but despite that, he still held the illusion. The old lie.

"Bryan might not have a choice."

* * *

"You're not going to disappoint me, are you?"

Bryan blinked hazily, stumbling where he stood. His mind felt fuzzy, like his skull had been stuffed with cotton wool. His vision was blurred, and then he felt certain his brain _had_ been replaced with cotton wool. He would have fallen but a hand, cool and dry, reached out to steady him. He wondered vaguely to who it belonged, but he knew there was only possibility.

Tala stood in front of him, one hand deep in his pocket, lips curved in a secretive smile. "Bryan," he said again, tugging gently on the hand he held within his loose grip. "You didn't answer my question. I can't go until you do."

Bryan shook his head hard. One look at his surroundings confirmed all he needed to know.

"This is a fucking dream."

"Maybe," Tala shrugged. "Does it make a difference? Personally, I don't see that it does."

_Of course it does_, Bryan wanted to say. _Because then it means you're not the real Tala_.

He took a closer look at the 'dream' Tala. This one had discarded the Abbey uniform and was clad in a long-sleeved white sweater and faded blue jeans. For some reason he had left his feet bare, and Bryan noted absentmindedly that he had nice toes – never mind that he had no clue whether the real Tala had nice feet or not. All in all, his observation still ended up being rather meaningless because this impostor simply wasn't real.

"Whatever. I shouldn't be dreaming about you. I shouldn't even be sleeping right now."

"Why can't you dream about me?" the dream Tala asked curiously. "I dream about you all the time."

Something inside Bryan twisted. "That's not possible," he said roughly. "There's no way you would know that. You're not real. You're not _him_."

"And for all you know, I could be," he replied lightly, and then smiled knowingly. "You certainly hold onto me like you believe I am."

The falcon looked down at their still entwined hands and jerked away, swearing loudly.

The dream Tala cocked his head and sighed. "Maybe I should have just kept my mouth shut," he said mournfully, wiggling his fingers in the empty space. "Now it will be a while before I can touch you again."

"Like hell it will. Listen, I have no intention–"

"You don't have a choice," the dream Tala interrupted, giving him an astonished look. "You've already made your decision. I'm here, aren't I?"

"No, that's impossible. I never–"

"God, you are so stubborn," he interrupted again, impatiently this time. "You made your decision the moment you saw me, and you know it, Kuznetsov. You've realised it, haven't you? You _know_."

"What I know," Bryan countered with a sneer, "is that I promised to kill you. Remember that?"

The dream Tala looked at him, a smile playing over his lips. "Yes," he said quietly. "You did. Of course I remember. But, Bryan… there's something you've forgotten. Something I think you purposefully forgot."

Bryan's smirk faltered as the redhead drew closer until they were barely touching.

"I told you not to disappoint me," he breathed, letting his warm breath glide like silk over the other's skin. "If you need to kill me to do that, do it. I want it. I won't fight it. But when you do… once you fulfil that promise you made to me… you will give yourself to me in a way that no one else will ever have you. Physically, mentally, emotionally, sexually… I will own every _inch_ of you, and you know what? You'd have given it to me because you _wanted_ to. You surrendered yourself because you have nothing else to give. No matter what you do now, after today you will belong to me, and there won't be a damn thing you can do about it."

Bryan drew back. "Bullshit," he said hoarsely. "You're talking absolute bullshit."

"I'm not," the dream Tala said smugly. "I already own your mind, don't I? You can't stop thinking about me. And–" his hand ghosted over Bryan's crotch and felt the reacting twitch there. "I damn sure own you _here_."

Without a second thought, his fist lashed out, catching the redhead on the jaw. The dream Tala stumbled back before regaining his footing, and wiped one sleeve across his mouth. When he pulled it away, the red stain of his lips were smeared onto the white fabric.

He laughed openly. "That was one hell of a kiss, Bry," he said, admiring the red mark left on his sweater. "Seriously, if you can spare that much energy for a simple kiss…" he ran the tip of his tongue along his teeth, letting the rest of the sentence hang in the emptiness between them. He laughed again.

"Stop fucking with me!"

The dream Tala stopped. "No," he said seriously. "I can't do that. I…I wish I could. I want to do what you want. But…"

Bryan felt like tearing his hair out. "But_ what_?" he demanded harshly. "Why can't you just stop?"

His smile was sad this time. He reached out, just letting his fingertips graze Bryan's cheeks. "I wish I knew," he whispered. "I wish I could tell you what you wanted to know. But I can't. I want to so badly, but I just _can't_."

He leaned close again, and this time Bryan met him halfway. He couldn't resist it. Their mouths touched and Bryan instinctively drew him even closer, drinking in his warmth, revelling in the sweet recesses that, no matter what he did, he couldn't stop himself from wanting.

"Do you really want this to stop, Bryan? Do you want me to disappear just like everyone else?"

"No," he murmured back, running his hands up and down, sliding his fingers under the sweater to stroke naked skin. "I don't want you to go. I just–"

The dream Tala moaned, arching up into his touch. "Then it's enough," he panted, clutching a fistful of lavender hair tightly. "It's… _ah_… enough. As long as you keep your promise, it's enough."

"Is it? I don't… feel like it is. It's not enough, is it?"

"That's why you have to trust me."

"I don't know if I can do that."

Tala looked up at him, tightening his grip. "I don't think you have a choice," he said softly.

* * *

Bryan snapped awake with a jerk when someone shook his shoulder. He shot upright, taking deep gulping breaths as he struggled to throw off the dream.

"Bry, you feelin' okay?"

He turned to glare at the tall boy standing behind him. "Do I look okay?" he hissed, rubbing at his eyes furiously.

"Well…" Spencer scratched his head sheepishly, his cheeks flushing. "Sorry for waking you up. It… it must have been some dream, huh?"

Puzzled, Bryan followed his gaze where it stopped on the obvious bulge in his pants. "Shit!" he cursed, snatching up a pillow to cover the embarrassing spectacle. "Fuck, Spencer, what the hell are you doing in my room?"

The blonde ignored the question. "You have a beybattle in fifteen minutes. I came to see how you were doing. Why were you sleeping?"

Bryan swore again, swinging his legs onto the floor. "I was just resting my eyes for a minute," he said shortly, moving towards the bathroom. He twisted the tap, leaning his elbows on the basin as cold water gushed into it. Had he only been sleeping for thirty minutes? It had felt more like hours.

Spencer followed him, standing in the doorway. "You shouldn't be sleeping during the day. You shouldn't need to," he persisted.

The falcon gritted his teeth before splashing icy water over his face. He stared at his dripping reflection, hating the dark smudges under his eyes. He didn't need that idiot Spencer stating the obvious. Of course he shouldn't be sleeping during the day. Of course he shouldn't need to. It wasn't his fault that his sleeping patterns had been thrown completely out of whack by Tala, either.

He saw Spencer still standing there, watching him.

"If that's all you had to say, you can go. I don't need you mothering me."

The older boy gave him a speculative look and hesitated. "Bryan, if there's something you want to talk about–"

Bryan's hands tightened their grip on the basin. "There isn't. Just get out."

"Fine. If that's what you want."

He saw disappointment in Spencer's eyes before he walked out, and he felt like laughing. What the hell did he expect? Did he expect Bryan to break down and confess why he was so fucked up right now? Or did he want them to have a heart-to-heart, to talk about his _problems_ like it would make a shred of difference? No, Spencer didn't have a fucking clue. He would never be able to understand.

Bryan would never confide in him or Ian. They were pawns in the game, just like Tala. He couldn't allow them to obstruct his judgement, therefore he could not bring himself to fully trust them. That was the way the Abbey worked, the only way he could exist here with them. At a distance, _always_ at a distance. He told himself that it was his nature, which it was the only way he knew to operate.

But that didn't apply to everyone. Not to Tala.

He stared at his reflection and smiled sourly. _And here I thought Spencer was the only one with a talent for stating the obvious_.

* * *

His mouth was dry but he couldn't drink.

Tala stood staring at the still dripping tap, knowing that even the slightest drop would send him running to the toilet to throw up even thought there was nothing left in his stomach. Just thinking about thirst made his stomach clench painfully. He risked taking a deep breath, giving his reflection a hard-hearted glare.

It was pathetic, and his nerve failed him as he slumped to lean his elbows against the basin.

Did he look like the future captain of the most elite beyblade team in Russia? No, he just looked like crap, he decided with a scowl, turning his head this way and that. His sleepless nights were catching up to him, leaving his skin looking blotchy and carving out dark hollows underneath his eyes. He looked sickly and weak.

It didn't help that he felt the same way.

Tala scowled at his reflection. "How pathetic am I?" he muttered. "I'm reduced to this within a freaking hour just because I have to blade against Bryan."

His stomach tightened again, reminding him rather unnecessarily that his intestines had twisted themselves into knots.

He wished he could work up some of his earlier confidence again, even the slightest bit just to make himself look vaguely threatening. Bryan would not be intimidated by this wraith-like version of Tala Ivanov. Boris would certainly not be impressed by it. No one in their right mind would.

Now the terrible ache also bloomed in his chest. Tala felt the overwhelming need for someone to hold onto – if someone could just stand beside him and hold his hand, it would be enough. No matter how much he told himself that he didn't need someone to hold him, no matter how much he scorned himself for having it, it refused to go away.

"God, I _am_ pathetic."

But Bryan didn't think so. And he had heard the words from Bryan's own mouth, hadn't he? The thought made him flush with pleasure, even as the realization sank in that his current state would ultimately only disappoint the other boy.

Tala straightened, mouth tightening in annoyance. This was crap. Why was he standing here, worrying himself into an aneurysm about what Bryan would think?

Bryan didn't matter.

Bryan _couldn't_ matter, not now. Not when he would have to… not when he would be forced to–

He trembled, grabbing the sink to steady his shaking hands. _I have to snap out of this_, he told himself harshly, swallowing the nausea threatening to overwhelm him. _Bryan doesn't care what happens to me, why should I care what I do to him?_ _It doesn't make a difference either way. He's going to try and kill me if I can't fight back… no, there'll be no 'trying' about it. He _will_ kill me if I fail._ _And he won't give a damn about doing it, either. _

_So I shouldn't care about what happens to him. _

_I shouldn't. _

_And I won't. _

Tala raised his head, twisting the tap open with a decisive motion. Cupping one hand under the faucet, he brought a mouthful to his lips and drank deeply, resisting the urges to throw up. The water tasted good, and he smiled, bending down to drink more. It cleared his mind somewhat and he focused on taking deep, even breaths to concentrate his thoughts on the beybattle.

No matter how much it felt like it, Bryan was not the final hurdle. He was not the end. No, defeating him would only be the beginning. As cliché as that sounded, it was the truth for Tala. Nothing was going to happen to end it all, _this was the beginning_.

He only wished he could believe it.

* * *

"Is this all you have to offer, Balcov?"

The old man seated before Boris sneered, tossing the file carelessly down on the ornate table between them. He leaned forward, fixing a sharp gaze on the director and pointing his cane like a gun to the photograph attached to the folder.

"This is the best you have to show me?" he repeated scornfully again. "I suspected you were wasting valuable time and money, but to dare show me results such as _this_…"

Boris flinched. "Lord Voltaire, the boy has a unique talent that I have tested extensively," he protested. "If he remains here, I will be in a position to hone his skills to the point where he will be able to execute our plans flawlessly. Tala has the desire for power that will ensure he remains utterly loyal to the cause, and I can assure you that by placing him as captain, the chance of failure is reduced by almost eighty percent."

Voltaire stroked his chin thoughtfully, giving the photograph another cursory examination. With a sudden predatory gleam in his eyes, he turned to the figure seated beside him.

"And what do you make of this Ivanov?"

Boris's gaze flickered to the young man seated at Voltaire's right hand and he swallowed the intense dislike that welled up in his throat at the mere sight of him. The arrogant little bastard had deemed himself too superior to train here at the Abbey, and spurned Boris at every turn, constantly belittling him like he was a fool. Oh yes, Kai had the Hiwatari arrogance bred into him and that same breeding allowed him to do or say whatever he liked to Boris. Of course, just because Boris was rendered powerless in that respect did not mean he had to _like_ the boy. He despised Kai and made it patently obvious whenever they were alone together.

"Based on what? His looks?"

Kai tilted his head as he spoke, sounding only amused, but his eyes went straight to Boris, knowing that the director realised the jibe for what it was.

"Come, come," his grandfather chided indulgently, but there was a cold warning underneath it. "I imagine that Boris would only be grateful for you observations at this point before he wastes any more time on a worthless venture. Did you forget that, Balcov? Kai was always so astute is judging your former candidates and eliminating them before they became liabilities. I think that you _do_ owe my grandson your gratitude."

Kai smirked, flicking a lock of slate-blue hair out of his crimson eyes.

"I am always indebted to Kai for pointing out my… _mistakes_," Boris bit out from behind clenched teeth. "However, that is the reason I requested your presence here today, my lord. I wished to show you personally what this boy is capable of and that this time my choice will prove to be beneficial to you and Biovolt."

"He had better be, Balcov. I grow tired of waiting for results from you."

"And you will have it today," Boris promised. "I arranged for Tala to exhibit his skills against Bryan Kuznetsov."

"How original, Boris. The delicate little flower against the big bad wolf. Could you possibly have any less imagination?"

Again the taunt. _Of course not, you little shit_, he wanted to shout. _I have specific reasons for doing what I did, reasons you could never understand._ _If you knew half of what I did about what goes on between Tala Ivanov and Bryan Kuznetsov, it would wipe the smirk of your face faster than my fist could! _

"I find it interesting that you think so little of Bryan, Kai, yet you never bothered to challenge him."

"It would not be much of a challenge," the boy returned easily, "if I even bothered at all."

Boris fumed silently. How dare this brat insult his students so indifferently? And he even had the nerve to enjoy doing it!

"Bryan is the most elite blader in the Abbey," he snarled, momentarily for getting in whose presence he was in. "If you had half the talent you profess to have, you would have tried to set your skills against his years ago. You–"

"_Enough_, Balcov."

His jaw clenched shut obediently and Boris nodded in defeat, hating that Kai was always witness to that weakness.

"I want to see this Ivanov perform as soon as possible," the old man continued sternly. "You have wasted enough of my time as it is."

"The exhibition match is scheduled to begin in fifteen minutes," Boris informed him stiffly as both men rose. "As it is your wish, I will escort you to–"

Kai unfolded himself gracefully from the settee. "I want to meet Ivanov before that happens."

Boris's eyes narrowed. "I'm afraid that won't be possible," he said smoothly. "Perhaps afterwards I could arrange for Tala to speak with you–"

"I said _before_, Boris."

He knew very well he could not refuse that order in front of Voltaire. "Very well," he said reluctantly. "Someone will escort you now, if that is your wish."

"Oh, it is," Kai reassured him mockingly. "I'm looking forward to meeting someone you think so highly of."

Boris shot him a resentful look but snapped his fingers. An Abbey guard entered immediately, saluting all in the room.

"See that Master Kai is escorted back to the central arena after he has spoken with Tala Ivanov in the second dormitory of the east wing," he ordered abruptly, shooting a calculating gaze at the younger man. This was unusual behaviour, and it worried him. Kai never expressed a personal interest in any of the students, but when Boris stared at him, the heir to the Hiwatari empire only stared back at him with a contemptuous expression.

"Don't you have anything else to do beside stare at me, _Balcov_?" he asked in an amused voice.

Boris glared hatefully at him, but swept out of the room behind Voltaire without another word.

Kai laughed to himself. The man was so easy to provoke, so open to insults and jibes… so _weak_. Pathetic, really. He reasoned that the only explanation why his grandfather would let a fool work in such a position of power was that he was smart enough to do what was needed, yet stupid enough to do exactly what he was told.

His gaze drifted down to the photograph again, caressing each elegant line on Tala's face.

_So… Boris finally did something interesting. The delicate little flower versus the big bad wolf… Tala and Bryan._

This should be enough to hold his attention. _For now_, he added privately, smiling slowly to himself.

**TBC**


End file.
